


Wildflowers

by carriecmoney



Series: Petr(ichor) [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Not a soulmate AU, Vampires, Werewolves, just a supernatual psychic bullshit au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 15:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13414284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carriecmoney/pseuds/carriecmoney
Summary: “What do you know about werewolves?”“That I am one.”“And vampires?”“What?”The deacon grinned. His canineswereunnaturally large. “It’s very good that we found you, Takahiro.”Prequel to Petrichor/Ichor. Matsuhana's first meeting.





	Wildflowers

**Author's Note:**

> {A/N: I love my boys and this is what I needed to get back in the groove of writing again. It may help to read Petrichor/Ichor first, but it's not totally necessary. Enjoy. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

Pigs. Why did it have to be _pigs?_

It was a twelve hour haul from St. Louis to Lafayette, Louisiana, and Takahiro had been itchy the whole way. It was a last-minute job, taken because of a need to keep moving and a favor he owed the pig farmer’s cousin’s wife, but he would’ve told her to stuff her favor if he knew what this would _be_ like. It was one thing to learn in high school biology that pigs were the closest animal meat came to being human, and another thing to _smell_ it when it was just past the new moon and he was _hungry_. He didn’t know much about being a werewolf yet, but in too many ways he felt like a teenager again – sweaty, horny, insecure, and always so fucking _hungry_.

He was only an hour out of Lafayette now, the sunset a dark orange to the right over the Mississippi and Baton Rouge straight ahead on I-45, but he had been making good time so far and he deserved a break. No arrangement of window height and air freshener was saving him from the evil stench of thirty-five grown hogs in the back of this unfamiliar rig (his own wasn’t ready for these kinds of trailers, so he had left it in the pig farmer’s barn overnight). To a human nose, they probably only had a faint barnyard-manure scent, but after eleven hours of fantasizing about every pork dish he could think of, he was about ready to crash this thing in the ditch and improvise a nice slow cooker.

He needed some God-damned bacon.

The last exit before Baton Rouge took hold had a slew of fast food signs on the marker, including a Waffle House attached to a truck stop. He could fuel up after he shoved every scrap of bacon in the building in his mouth. He smiled for the first time since he had climbed in the cab. Beautiful. He flipped his blinker.

* * *

Issei had had a bad day at work. Really, he hadn’t had a good day at work… ever. But this one was one for the books. If he didn’t not have a choice he would have torn off the ugly hunter green polo and thrown it right in his shift supervisor’s tiny little face. But he had made it through and escaped his latest tourist trap unharmed, changing shirts as soon as he got to his car to something that had a small chance of breathing in the heavy August humidity. It had already rained that day, the water in the air almost drinkable as he rode around Baton Rouge with the windows down, not really going anywhere. He couldn’t _leave_ , even when Terry was asleep, the tether of his leash pulling at him like a choke collar, but he tested the limits anyway, cruising under the speed limit at his beaten-down border, through old neighborhoods and oil refinery fences. He would have to go back to the farm eventually, but he could at least put it off until sunset.

He stopped for gas at the north edge of his radius, taking his time picking out his cigarettes and digging through the packs’ shared Nissan for change to pay for it, even changing pants in the bathroom so he didn’t have to be seen in public in khakis. The sun ducked under the horizon behind him, and he pretended not to gasp at it, leaning against the fender as the pump chugged away. Terry could _call_ him if he wanted him.

Issei sneezed twice, all his sulking senses perking up. The truck stop across the four-lane highway exit had something _in_ it.

There were a few semis in the truck parking lot, normal freight trailers, a pine-chip hauler – _pigs_. He sneezed again. What were _pigs_ doing in here on a Tuesday-

The door of the cab kicked open, and a skinny redneck in flannel and a beat-up backwards cap jumped out. He slapped the door closed behind him as the pigs started squealing through the grate of the side at him. He barked something at them, freckles stark on his flush – he smelled like flowers, oh shit how could Issei smell him from sixty-seven feet away?

A heavy body settled on the trunk beside Issei’s lean. “Well. What have we here?”

Issei jumped, heart pounding in his ears before he could even register Terry’s worn face next to him, watching the trucker rattle the pigs’ cage a little more before walking towards the Waffle House that shared a lot with the gas station. “ _Jesus_ , Mom! The hell?”

Terry cut dark eyes at him. “You called.” His mouth twitched. “Whether you meant to or not.”

The gas pump kicked back behind him. Issei jerked out of his shock to lift it out, putting it back in its dock and barely remembering to twist the cap back on. Terry watched him from his perch on the trunk, only his head moving. Even though his simple work haircut and button-up technically looked less threatening than Issei’s greasy ponytail and old band shirt, the few other patrons of the gas station that hadn’t paid Issei any mind gave Terry a bit of a berth. “Whatever,” Issei grumbled. The flowery redneck stranger across the street was already inside, sitting at a booth at a window and smiling at the waitress as she poured his coffee. His scent _should_ be gone now – Issei _should_ have never been able to smell it in the first place – but flowers still floated in Issei’s head, thick and cloying. Since when did truckers smell like flowers?

“You ever seen this wolf before?” Terry tilted his head as Issei shook his. “You look like he murdered your dog as a child.”

Issei huffed, hackles ready. “ _No_. Never smelled him in my goddamn _life_.”

Terry raised a thick eyebrow, then slapped his knees and stepped off the car. “Well. I should go welcome him to Baton Rouge, then.” His mouth twitched. “Want to come along?” Issei yanked open the car door, hinges straining to keep it attached. Terry laughed, head thrown back, and the old black man on the other side of the pump slid back in his car. “Have it your way, son.” And he was gone, the glass of the Waffle House door flashing. Issei glowered at the trucker’s table, coffee halfway to his mouth as he stared at Terry across the booth from him, smiling like a patient father.

Issei threw himself in the driver’s seat, clenching the wheel hard enough to bend it, adding another layer of finger marks to the archaeologic dig of old road rage. Fucking vampires.

* * *

Takahiro had expected some weird looks for getting an entire table’s worth of bacon sides, some laughs from the Waffle House staff maybe as he tried to find a spot for his coffee between plates. What he hadn’t expected was company.

He blinked as a dad-aged man (had he even been _in_ the building? Takahiro must not have been paying attention) slid in the booth across from him. “Uh.” The dad-guy smiled, crow’s feet crinkling. “Can I help you?”

“That’s probably not your place to ask.” The dad’s eyes were strangely compelling despite being totally average, but he smelled… sweet. Metallic. Huh. Takahiro lowered his coffee to the table as the dad stole a piece of his bacon. “I compel you for your name and your master,” he said, heavy words shivering down Takahiro’s sweaty back, dark eyes boring into him in a way that normal people eyes were _not_ supposed to be able to do.

“My name is Takahiro Hanamaki,” his voice said, separate from his will, “and I heed no master.”

The dad hummed, chewing on his bacon without looking away. “That’s a dangerous game to play, son.” He swallowed. “Why are you in Louisiana?”

Why couldn’t Takahiro look away? Why couldn’t he _blink_? “A favor,” he breathed. “Delivering some pigs to Lafayette.”

“What’s in Lafayette?”

“Sam’s Wholesale.” His eyes were watering, but the dad’s weren’t just brown anymore, but war-torn, hiding mud-slick battlefields and shining gladiator pits. He sucked in a breath. “Who _are_ you?”

The eyes smiled, and the gladiator’s crowd cheered. “I’m the Deacon of Baton Rouge.”

Takahiro frowned. “You don’t seem like a Catholic to me.”

This deacon guy smiled, blood spraying across the battlefield. “You’re in Louisiana now, son. Most of us are Catholic.” The waitress came by to check on them, and the deacon broke their stare to smile at her and ask for some coffee as well, please. Takahiro blinked a few times, fat tears rolling out that he swiped away with his shirt collar. What the _fuck_ was going on? He rubbed his head, barely tossing a weak smile at the waitress as she refilled his coffee, too, then left them to wash dishes. He looked up into his table crasher’s eyes and – oh _God_ damnit!

The deacon grinned, absolutely nothing dad-like about it. “You’re a little green,” he said through the cannonfire screams.

Takahiro swallowed. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“We’ll see.” He sipped his coffee as the battle found a still moment, a Christmas miracle. “How did you become a werewolf, Takahiro?”

Somewhere inside him, someone was screaming, clawing at the walls thrown up by the deacon’s stare. Takahiro hadn’t told _anyone_ anything about his medical problem, _no one knew_. How did this stranger find out? Who was he? _What_ was he?

“Arkansas,” he said instead of any of his screaming questions. “Hauling feed down some back road early morning when I hit – something. Thought it was a coyote, but I got out to drag it out of the main way and it attacked me. It ran away, but it got me pretty good.” He showed the marks on his forearms – they had healed over by the time he had gotten home a few days after the attack, which should have been a warning sign, but he didn’t know enough to see it. He didn’t know enough still, clearly. “Got my rabies shot and all that, but a month later I tore up some poor motel room in North Dakota. Scared the hell outta me.”

The deacon slow-blinked, like a cat, eyes not closing all the way. “And when was this?”

“Eleven full moons ago. Usually spend them hiding under a bed.”

“What do you know about werewolves?”

“That I am one.”

“And vampires?”

“What?”

The deacon grinned. His canines _were_ unnaturally large. “It’s very good that we found you, Takahiro.”

“Who’s we?” He breathed in – froze. There was a new smell by the door, different than the sweat of most of the people in his life, the citrus or food he had smelled on strangers before. This one smelled like trees, even though trees don’t _have_ a smell, but it was definitely birch. Birch and snow. The deacon wasn’t letting him look away, but something primal under his skin _knew_. There was another… _him_ in this Waffle House. He swallowed, dry eyes twitching. “Oh.”

The deacon leant forward, taking another piece of bacon but putting it in Takahiro’s waiting hand instead. “I think it might be wise of you to strike a deal. Eat.” Takahiro nibbled, bacon not as life-changing as it had been two minutes ago. “I’ll loan you an escort across the state to your destination,” he said through the bacon crunch rattling Takahiro’s skull, “provided you come back for dinner.”

Takahiro gulped. “Am _I_ dinner?”

The deacon smiled. “Oh, no, you’re far too important to be dinner. Unless you want to be.” He looked away at _last_ , and Takahiro blinked, rubbing his eyes. “Come here.”

The snow-and-birch scent moved closer. Takahiro took his fists off his face and turned to it. A tall, greasy guy with a wavy black ponytail only half contained by its tie and stained jeans leant against the booth seat behind the deacon, arms crossed tight over a fraying T-shirt and scowling straight at Takahiro. Even if his stance didn’t scream _don’t fucking touch me_ , the scents washing through the trees told Takahiro his temper clearer than any personality test – than any human he had ever smelled before. Maybe he needed to stop assuming every person he met today was human. At least his eyes only had the normal hot-person (after a shower) hypnosis than the deacon’s supernatural trap.

He lifted a hand. “Hi.” Birch narrowed his eyes, lip curling.

“Do you agree to our deal?” the deacon asked. Takahiro looked away from Birch – at the table of bacon. It would be a shame to waste it.

“Can I finish eating?”

“By all means.” He slid out of the booth, Birch shifting out of his way. “Do we have a bargain?”

Takahiro blinked – if this was a deal with the devil, it was a strangely low-stakes one. “There’s no fine print to this, right? Just dinner?”

“We can discuss further elements then, in a friendlier setting. But, for now, no. Just dinner.”

Takahiro looked up, only just managing to focus on the deacon’s nose instead of his eyes. He had such a _normal_ face. This was the weirdest way to get introduced to the supernatural underbelly of America _ever_. “Then it’s a deal. Sir.” He held out his hand, and the deacon took it, smiling.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He let Takahiro go, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I have business elsewhere to attend to. Keys?” Takahiro frowned, but the grumpy pants fished in his pockets instead and handed his over. The deacon’s face was too dad-ish to glare, but he definitely gave the side of Birch’s face a stern look. “Play nice. I expect you at the farm in less than three hours.” Birch huffed, almost a growl at the end. The deacon smiled at Takahiro again. “Don’t mind him, he won’t hurt you,” he said. “He’s just got an attitude problem.” And then he was gone, not even a puff of wind to tell he was there.

Takahiro blinked a few times, then looked up at the walking attitude problem, who was trying to stare him down for no reason. Takahiro gave him best grin and pushed a plate of bacon his way. “You want some?” He glanced him over, all sharp cheekbones and jutting hips – shit, he was checking him out, wasn’t he? Damn it. He cleared his throat. “You – you look like you need it.”

Birch gave him a long look, like he was contemplating flipping the table and walking out, deacon or no deacon. Takahiro chomped on bacon instead of words, ears burning under his hat hair. It was long enough that Takahiro was about to ask again when he sat, jerky and bony, and snapped up a piece of bacon. Takahiro grinned, pulse pounding in his hands that he tried to drown out with the heat of his coffee cup. “So.” Birch raised an overgrown eyebrow under his stringy hair, reaching for the deacon’s coffee. Takahiro cleared his throat again. “Uh. I- I didn’t catch your name.”

Birch didn’t blink, staring at him as he drained the coffee in one go, throat working as Takahiro’s residual panic morphed to mild horror. What the hell _were_ these guys?

He banged the empty mug on the table and pulled a full plate of bacon his way. “Call me Matt.”

* * *

This flower power stupid-ass chatty redneck was going to _die_. Today. It wasn’t even half an hour into Terry’s prescribed three hours, and he had already been talked at about this guy’s parents, his favorite food, his last time in Louisiana, and how awful pigs smell. Issei would have tuned him out as soon as he opened his mouth, but something about this asshole’s tenor chirp kept him from doing so, the play of emotions on his face just eye-catching enough to keep Issei staring. He could smell the nervous fear rolling off this guy in waves, gusts over the cosmos, but Issei sat firm, unresponsive, like a rock. He could wait it out. He could wait until he ran out of words, and they could sit in silence for the hour to Lafayette and the hour back. He could pretend not to listen.

“Yo, feet off the dash,” Flower Power said, waving a hand at Issei’s boots, “it’s a rental.” He grinned at his own joke, watching Issei between glances at the road to see if he would crack. Issei scowled harder, and Flower Power glanced back at the road. “Anyway.” Flowerboy cleared his throat _again_. “So, uh, are you and your… boss? The only crazy things down here? Or is there a whole mole-maze under our feet?”

Issei glanced across the cab at his fingers tapping on the steering wheel, lip caught in his teeth as he stared hard at the elevated highway stretching over the wetlands between Baton Rouge and Lafayette. Issei didn’t _want_ to like this guy, he wanted to roll out of the cab and dive in the swamp thirty feet below and wash the floral print off his skin, but he remembered what it was like to be new at this. Would he even still be alive if the pack hadn’t taken him in?

“No.” Flower Power jumped a little, and Issei bit his cheek against a smile. “Terry’s the head Baton Rouge vamp, and my pack works for him. It’s how this place works, as fucked as it is.” He slouched as far as his seat belt would allow, ducking under the chest strap and letting it support his neck. “You really don’t have a pack?”

Flower child shook his head. “Like I told your boss, I was being stupid and stuck my hand in a bag without checking what was in it. Figuratively.” He shoved one rolled-up flannel sleeve a little higher – white lines criss-crossed under freckles all over both forearms. Issei’s eyes widened, but Flowerboy missed it, distracted by a slow car too close in front of him. He cursed and backed down, biding his time until he had space to pass. “I hit it – him, her, dunno – up in Arkansas. I thought it was dead, but when I got out to drag it off the road, it attacked me and ran away. Lucky a corn farmer found me before I bled out.” He frowned, open face hard to read under the brim of his fraying ball cap. “Still don’t know if they’re alive,” he muttered.

Issei stared, tapping his toes in the dark of the footwell, mild hum of the radio and the engine the only sounds. It was quiet when he wasn’t talking. “That sucks,” he finally said. Flower child snorted, teeth flashing.

“Yeah, I guess it does, huh?” He shrugged, flipping his blinker for the lane shift. “It was almost a year ago now, so it’s still really weird but I’m… adjusted.”

Issei squinted. “What do you do for the shift?”

Flowerboy shrugged again. “Mostly hide under the bed.” Issei opened his mouth – snapped it closed. “It’s not like I can go _outside_ ,” he continued, fingers clenching around the wheel, “I live in _Iowa_. There’s no place to hide.” He switched lanes back to the right, squirming in his seat for a better spot. “Why, what’re you supposed to do?”

Issei can’t look away from this dumbass’s face. What’s _wrong_ with him. “Run.” He scowled. “Don’t you… feel it? The need?”

“Well, sure, but I feel the need to eat a whole cake out of red meat every day now, too. Doesn’t mean I do.” He said it like it was a diet, or some New Year’s resolution exercise plan, not _being a goddamned werewolf_. Issei’s scowl wouldn’t leave. Flowerboy flicked a glance at him, face falling. “What?”

“How old are you?” Issei barked.

Flowerboy blinked. “Uh – twenty-three?” Issei grit his teeth. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Issei’s lip curled. “Nothing.” He was past twenty-four and _he_ didn’t have the control to stay inside during a shift. Asshole. He slid down further in the seat, ass barely hanging on and knees pressed against the dash. Flowerboy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Okay, then.” He flipped the radio from the obnoxious car commercial to an old country station. “So, do all states have this network of movie monsters stalking its Waffle Houses, or am I just lucky?”

Issei bit his cheek. “Louisiana is a special hell.” He sighed and pushed back up in his seat, not all the way but enough to duck back under the chest strap of the seatbelt. “As far as I know, the rest of the continent has loose pack territories, but the vampires got their teeth into this place and won’t let us live. Laid their stupid clergy hierarchy over it like it’s a goddamn imperial court.” He glanced out the window at the sliver of dark green against dark blue where the top of the trees met the barely-twilight sky. Terry had relaxed his leash for the trip, but he could feel it tugging, tugging, tugging. If he tried to run for real, he would get choked. “Sucks.”

“Sounds like it.” Issei’s shoulders hunched up around his ears. “So, the deacon guy is a real vampire, then?” Issei shrugged, sharp and tense. “Huh.”

Issei cut his eyes at his freckled profile. “Having trouble believing in vampires?”

Flowerboy snorted. “Nah, I’ve had plenty of time to imagine what else could be real if I existed. Just didn’t expect my first one to look like my high school basketball coach.” Issei choked, coughing as he tried not to laugh, but Flowerboy grinned anyway. “I _was_ pretty bad at basketball,” he added, “so I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned into one because of me.”

“Sta- stop,” Issei coughed out. Flowerboy barked a laugh and shoved his shoulder-

They both sucked in a breath, shying away from each other like fire. Flowerboy ( _columbine and aster and lupine and other wildflowers he didn’t know_ ) cursed and caught the wheel again, panting as he fought to keep them from crashing into the bridge’s wall. “The _fuck?_ ”

“It’s – a wolf thing,” Issei mumbled, hugging himself tight, turned away from the too-bright sunshine in the middle of the night. “I’m… probably not the right person to explain it.” He frowned. “Just don’t touch me.”

“Helpful.” Issei squeezed his middle tighter. “I’ll give you your space then, Mr. Grumpypants.” He turned up the radio as Issei faced the window, watching the treetops bump by.

* * *

Compared to the excitement of his Waffle House encounter, Takahiro’s drop off went smooth as butter. The wholesale manager was waiting for him at the gate, directing him to the animal barn where three hands corralled the pigs into their pen for the night. The manager was a cheery older guy, joking with Takahiro about his drive down and the ‘hitchhiker’ napping in his cab. He offered to have them over to his place for dinner, but Takahiro waved him off, using the real excuse of they had people back in Baton Rouge who would feed them, and managed to escape before he tried to matchmake Takahiro with his daughter.

Matt had barely moved the whole stop, stretched out on the cab’s seat for a nap after a smoke break against the fence of the pigpen. Takahiro couldn’t fault him for it – it was late, and dark, and he looked like he would blow apart if the right wind hit him. He woke up enough to move out of Takahiro’s way when he climbed back in the cab, still careful not to touch each other and set off that strange foggy spark again, but fell back into his doze when they got back on the highway. Takahiro turned the radio down for him, meandering back on the highway to head back to Baton Rouge and… whatever awaited him. The deacon had promised him that _he_ wasn’t on the menu for dinner tonight, but he didn’t get the impression that was a permanent promise. If a vampire bit him when he was already a werewolf, did he become… a werevamp? Were there ways to bite someone and _not_ make them a vampire? The werewolf… thing, whatever tiny form it took, seeming to be fluid contagious, but that didn’t mean this whole world operated like that.

If there even was a whole world. He only had the word of two weird guys that there _was_ some kind of network to this, that other people followed the same rules. He didn’t want to get lured into some weird reclusive cult in the woods. Did the pig farmer keep a gun in his truck? Would a gun even _do_ anything against these people?

He glanced over at Matt, who was leaning against the far door and curled in on himself. He still didn’t know this guy – he didn’t even know the other name that went with Matt – but something in that flash of a touch before, white trees like burnt bones fading into mist, felt… it was hard to pin down. It wasn’t like the back of his hand, or like home. But it felt like it _could_ be. He almost wanted to touch him again to see if he could go back, give them another shot at exploration, but he was driving, it was late, and he was sleeping. Maybe after dinner.

After the long day driving down from St. Louis, these last few miles flowed by almost on their own. The elevated highway was straight and dark, swamp underneath a void, only broken by the rise and fall of bridges over channels. It really was such a strange night. With all the rest that had happened, there might as well be vampires.

He waited until the last bridge over the Mississippi to dig in the handhold of the door for something to poke Matt awake with, nudging his shoulder with the stick of lip balm left there by a previous driver. Matt jerked, gasping awake, and Takahiro gritted his teeth. “Sorry.”

Matt rubbed at his face, blinking as he re-oriented himself to his surroundings. “Oh.” He looked over at Takahiro, streetlamps of the bridge flickering over his face. “I fell asleep.”

Takahiro smiled. “Yeah. No offense, but you looked like you needed it.” He couldn’t tell in the low light if Matt was glaring or just staring, so he pushed on, “Uh, I just… we’re almost back in Baton Rouge, so I need some directions to your boss’s place.” He glanced over at Matt’s impassive face. “If that’s still where we’re going?”

Another glance – was he _smiling?_ “Do you wanna run away with me, Flowerboy?”

 _Flowerboy?_ Wait- “Uh, no? I just…” He ripped off his hat to scratch his scalp _hard_ , cheeks on fire. “Fuck.”

Matt _laughed_ , not the forced choking of earlier but a real one, deep and throaty, shooting heat in his veins that had nothing to do with the humidity outside. Takahiro rubbed the back of his neck before cramming his hat back on his head. “Just tell me where to turn,” he growled, way harsher than he planned. Oops. He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” Matt waved a hand at the road ahead. “You’ll want the next exit, first one after the bridge.”

Matt directed him through the empty Tuesday night city, all quiet rumbles and vague hand gestures. The deacon’s property was on the north side of town, beyond the official city limits, the streetlights growing and fading as they wound past old trees and older houses. When they got on a long stretch of a divided highway, Takahiro asked, “So. What should I expect when we get there?”

Matt drummed his fingers on his thigh. “I think they were making ribs tonight.” Takahiro groaned, slumping against the steering wheel and surprising another throaty laugh out of his passenger. “The pack is… they’re good people.” He grinned, teeth flashing through his stringy hair. “I’m probably the worst one.”

Takahiro smiled. “They must be pretty great, then.” Matt’s mouth fell open a little. Takahiro looked to the road, biting his lip and swallowing his apology. He needed to learn to shut _up_.

“They… are.” Matt stretched out in his seat, all long denim and pale skin showing through the rips. “You don’t need to be-” He paused, breathing in, and shot Takahiro a hard look. “You’re _not_ scared.”

Takahiro considered it. “No, I guess I’m not.” He shrugged. “Guess it’s the shock. It’ll probably set in later, once I’m home again.” Matt stared at him, burning holes into the side of his face. “Right?”

Matt didn’t answer, just watching Takahiro’s profile until the radio changed songs, barely audible in the background. “Turn here,” he said in the silence twenty yards from a gated pull-off. Takahiro cursed and slammed on the brakes to make it, ignoring the faint laugh to the right. Fucker.

The gate opened without either of them doing anything, creaking against the brick supports. Was this a vampire thing, or was someone watching? His haunches rose, hair at the back of his neck rising as the delayed fear reaction crept in.

“Calm down, Flowerboy,” Matt mumbled, sitting up straighter. “Nothing to worry about.”

Sure, right, okay, he was just driving into a vampire-werewolf den of his own free will with nothing but his basketball coach’s word that he wouldn’t die. “Why do you keep calling me ‘Flowerboy’?” he asked instead.

Matt huffed. “What, you don’t know what you smell like?”

“What I _smell_ like? Why would I…” He used Irish Spring shampoo and body wash, which was nothing _like_ flowers. He breathed in the white wood the truck cab had smelled like ever since they dropped off the pigs – oh, like _that?_ “I smell like _flowers?_ ” he squeaked, voice cracking.

Matt chuckled. “Cute little pink ones.” Takahiro clenched a fist to punch at him, grinning – hesitated, fist caught in the air between them. Dropped it, smiles falling from both of their faces. Matt scowled at the large plantation house appearing through the trees, outbuildings scattered across a well-kept lawn. The house was lit up from the inside, two moving forms waiting on rocking chairs on the wide front porch. “You can park it in the barn,” Matt mumbled, pointing to the barn-like building on the left. “It’ll be fine there overnight.”

“Good. Great.” Takahiro followed the gravel track to the open barn doors, pulling as far in as he could. The death of the engine’s rumble slammed this all home – he was _doing_ this. Whatever _this_ was. He glanced over at Matt, dark eyes watching him like they had this whole trip. He tried to grin. “Still okay to run away with me?”

Matt huffed. “Too late now.” He popped the door handle and kicked it open, jumping out onto the packed earth of the barn floor. Takahiro took a few deep breaths (of peeling bark and barren undergrowth), then climbed out himself. Time for dinner.

Matt led the way out of the barn to the house, the two of them closing the barn doors that just cleared the fender in silence. “Terry – that’s the deacon – he’s waiting for us on the porch,” Matt said as they walked across the grass, “and Sadayuki is the taller guy. He’s the current pack master.”

Takahiro blinked. “Sadayuki? He’s Japanese?”

“Originally. Some distant relative of Terry’s. Came over after he got turned.”

“ _Terry’s_ Japanese?”

Matt shot a look, something tugging at his mouth. “And so am I. No relation on my end.”

“ _What?_ ”

Matt laughed, shaking his hair away from his face with it. It was the first time Takahiro had seen it in full, and he struggled to keep his hands in check, twitching at his sides, and focused on this new revelation. “Is your name even short for Matthew?” he snapped as they stepped past the ring of citronella torches that circled the house.

“Nope.” He led Takahiro up the porch stairs as the two people on the porch stood up from their wicker chairs. “We’re back,” he sang, “just as promised.”

“And I appreciate it,” the deacon, Terry, said. He gestured Takahiro forward from behind Matt. “Takahiro. Meet my nephew, Sadayuki.”

They didn’t really _look_ related – Terry was heavy-set and broad while Sadayuki was tall and almost willowy – but the set of his mouth was familiar as he took a step toward Takahiro, hand outstretched. “Hajimemashite.”

Takahiro grinned, wincing a little. “Sorry, my Japanese isn’t as good as my mother would like.” Sadayuki’s eyes crinkled as Takahiro took his hand to shake it, but Sadayuki reached up farther to grab his forearm, insides of their bare wrists pressed together-

A hot, dry wind slammed into his face, cacti scratching his arms over old scars and dust in his lungs. He coughed, stumbling back-

And fell back into the white wood, wider and taller than before, peeling bark like rows of eyes through the mists. He gasped, again, the chill of the forest settling his pulse. He closed his eyes…

Opened them. He was on the porch again, Terry scratching his chin with a twinkle in his wrinkles, Sadayuki watching him with level eyes. The arm around his waist tightened, growl rumbling down his shirt collar – Uh. He turned his head just a fraction towards it – Matt’s face was _very_ close, and he was _very_ warm pressed up against Takahiro’s back, white trees blending with the citronella and dew. “Matt?”

“Stand down, Matsukawa-kun.” Sadayuki kept still, staring Matt down, hands open in front of him. Takahiro couldn’t breathe, caught between the tension clogging up his nose and the iron arm constricting his belly. For such a sickly-looking guy he was _strong_. “Stand down.”

Takahiro sucked in a breath, caught up in Matt’s own ghosting over his cheek and his ribs cutting into his back with each growl. What the _fuck?_

In a flash, the arm and the body were gone, leaving Takahiro in the lurch as Matt backed off, wheezing. Takahiro turned to stare at him, dark eyes wide and hair a mess – _wild_. Matt’s mouth worked, strangled sounds that weren’t quite words leaking out.

He ran into the house, door banging behind him. Takahiro whipped to Terry and Sadayuki pulse high and loud in his hands, his ears. “What the _hell_ just happened?” he asked, voice higher than planned.

Terry smiled. “Would you like to come in and talk about it over dinner?”

* * *

Issei was _not_ hiding. He was giving the flowerboy some space, that’s all.

“Matt. What the _hell_ are you doing?”

Issei didn’t look up from his beer bottle label, picking at the wet corners. “Not hiding.” Joanne, Sadayuki’s second, crossed her arms and glared down at him. He had a nice spot on the kitchen floor, thank you, with cabinets against both shoulders and sheltered from the light and sound of the dining room. He could still hear enough of it to know that Flowerboy was getting on fine without him, laughing and eating with the rest of the pack like he was born to it. Like they were _family_. Issei closed his eyes and chugged his beer, hands shaking. He really needed a cigarette, but he would have to get up for that.

Joanne huffed. “Boy, you acting yourself up into a right state.” When he didn’t move, just pressed his beer bottle to his temple, she sighed and sat down next to him, laying her hand on the side of his neck. He leaned into it, rolling in her white sand beach, ocean spray on his skin. “Does he really bother you this much?” she asked, voice low.

“Yes.” He sighed. “He doesn’t _bother_ me,” he corrected, “he just… makes me itch.” Her hand slid around to hug his neck, pulling him to her thin chest. He clutched his beer close. “Today sucks,” he mumbled.

“Hush.” She laid her cheek on his shoulder. “He’s a good kid,” she said, rubbing his back. “For being alone for so long, he’s got good instincts, and he’s catching on ferociously. Even after your display on the porch-” He groaned, collapsing against the cabinets, and she chuckled, hand still rubbing over his spine. “You can’t ignore it, hon.”

“Yes I can,” he mumbled. She slapped his side. “I didn’t _mean_ to.”

“That’s exactly why it matters. You know that. Hell, if Charlie growled at Sadayuki for me I’d kick her ass right upstairs-” He groaned louder, and she laughed, shaking him with it. “You’ve found someone who makes you itch,” she said, stealing his beer, “you shouldn’t let them go just because it’s scary.” She drained the last few gulps of it, reaching up to put the empty bottle on the counter over their heads. “Besides, Sada’s about to extend the offer, so you’ll have to figure it out sometime or another.”

He sat up, staring at her. “He’s what?”

She raised a thin eyebrow at him, glitter eyeliner shining in the streak of light from the cracked dining room door. “He blends in well with us, has no pack, and you like him. Of course he’s making the offer.” She set her jaw. “And you need to be there for it.”

“I don’t-!” He glanced at the cracked door. “I don’t _like_ him,” he hissed. She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, bless your heart.” She got to her feet, using the counter for leverage, and collected the pie waiting on the counter. “Get up and help me with this,” she said, kicking his hip. He glared, but she just glared back until he unfolded from his hiding spot, letting her take his hand and haul him to his feet. “Honestly, you’d think we didn’t feed you enough,” she grumbled. He tried to smile, opening the overhead cabinet to get down six dessert plates – seven. Jesus.

Joanne led the way into the dining room, pie-first, to cheers from the other three pack members and Flowerboy. Issei slipped in behind her, putting the plates and forks down on the table, _not_ looking as Flowerboy’s face fell, freckles standing out in the yellow chandelier light. He had taken his hat off since the porch, hat hair fingercombed down (probably by Joanne), a new barbeque stain on the white T-shirt under his flannel. He was on the other side of the table from Issei, flanked by Scot and Sadayuki, but Issei could still feel his faltering, smell the spike as the flowers closed up against the cold. Joanne gave him a Look-

Flowerboy frowned towards the front door just as Terry pushed back from his spot at the head of the table and the dogs started howling in the backyard. “Were you guys expecting company?” he asked.

“Good Lord, you’re such a Yankee,” Charlie said, not really paying attention to his reaction as she got up, too, the pack standing as a whole as Terry excused himself to go answer the incoming knock at the door. Issei still couldn’t smell the newcomer; he usually had to be in sight of a wolf to smell them ( _unless they smelled like wildflowers_ ). This guy had a better nose than he should. Sadayuki followed Terry down the hall, but the rest of the pack cut through the parlor to hide behind the curtains. The dogs were still raising a fuss outside, which meant that it wasn’t a vampire, but there was a friendly tinge to it. A known wolf. A roll of the dice if that was a good thing or not.

The door creaked open. “Good evening, Terushima,” Terry’s even voice said, as pleasant as a spring day. “What does the Gendarmerie need tonight?” Charlie cursed under her breath. They crowded together just out of sight of the front door, pressed against the china cabinet and a potted peace lily, drawn to drama like mayflies.

“We heard reports of an unauthorized wolf driving pigs through several territories,” a smooth, oily voice said. Issei’s lip curled as Joanne took a step forward – between the door and Flowerboy. “We also heard they ended up here.” Issei could hear the slimy smile from around the stupid corner, Terushima’s slicked-back hair bleached into his memory after too many run-ins in dark corners. “You’re not harboring a fugitive from the Bishop, are you, Deacon?”

“I’m afraid you heard incorrectly,” Terry said, still unerringly polite. “There are no unauthorized wolves here tonight.”

“Then explain the animal truck in your barn. _Sir_.”

“Hmm?” Flowerboy stiffened in their midst. “Oh, I apologize, I believe you asked for any _unauthorized_ wolves. They’re my guest, as a matter of fact. I believe it’s perfectly within my authority to invite a future pack member to dinner.” There was a long pause, the house still even as the flowers waved in a hurricane gust. “Do I need to get Miss Hana on the phone to straighten this misunderstanding out, Yuuji?”

Issei wanted to choke on the tension, hide from it in pollen and pastel. Every breath was caught, stances poised for a fight. A different voice muttered something too low for them to eavesdrop on. “Fine,” Terushima’s normally slick drawl snapped. “But if we come back and find them here and unbound, so help me, I’ll drag them to the Bishop myself.”

“Is that a threat?” Terry asked, a cold wind through the mist.

“Just watch yourself, _Deacon_.” Bootheels stomped across the brick of the porch, the door closing softer than Issei would have done it.

“Always a delight to have him stop by,” Terry said. Sadayuki snorted.

“Was that… the werewolf police?” Flowerboy asked, voice shaking in the weeds.

“Werewolf staffed, vampire led,” Scot explained as the pack loosened their cluster around him. They spread out in the front parlor to the collection of couches and chairs as Terry and Sadayuki came in, closing the shuttered against potential lingering eyes. “Rude little things,” he added, smile shining through his salt and pepper beard.

“People can’t help how they were made,” Terry said with a sigh, settling into his armchair. He gave Issei a look around Flowerboy, who he was… “Let him go.”

Shit. Again? He dropped Flowerboy like a hot rock, backing into the china cabinet, wincing when the dishes inside rattled. Nothing fell though, and Flowerboy didn’t look back, but straightened his clothes and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for causing trouble,” he told the pack. Terry raised an eyebrow. “If you need me to leave, I understand.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet, cher,” Charlie crooned, leaning against Joanne with a smile. “Ain’t he sweet?”

Joanne giggled, knuckle over her smile. “Adorable.”

Flowerboy crossed his arms. “But… what?”

Terry sighed. “We were going to present this over dessert,” he said, leaning forward with elbows on his knees, “but our visitor forced us to show our hand.” He gave Sadayuki a look, who pushed off his lean against a dresser to bow to Flowerboy, hands flat on his legs.

“We would be delighted,” he said, voice loud in the still of the midnight parlor, “if you would become a member of our pack.”

A strangled little squeak escaped Flowerboy’s mouth, the back of his neck and ears turning red. “But… that wasn’t a bluff? With the cop?”

“I try not to bluff with law enforcement unless absolutely necessary. Especially ours.” Terry pressed his fingertips together, watching Flowerboy’s face. Issei couldn’t tell if Flowerboy was making eye contact or not, but he could smell the flutter of petals as Terry continued, “While this may seem like a hasty decision, that doesn’t mean it’s made lightly. You need to be amongst people who understand you.” He smiled. “And I can always use a driver.”

“You would have to move in,” Joanne picked up, “and bond with the pack and Terry. But you wouldn’t have to deal with the full moon alone up in Iowa anymore.” She gestured around the room, Flowerboy looking from one smiling face to the next (he didn’t look back at Issei). “You could run with us.”

Flowerboy sucked in a breath. He had tucked his hands tight under his elbows, invisible from the front but Issei could see the white knuckles of his fists. “What happens if I say no?” he asked, voice too calm and steady for reality.

Terry spreads his hands. “We can no longer guarantee your safety, in or out of state borders. Now that the Gendarmerie knows your scent…” He let it trails off, fingertips tapping.

“And we’ll be very disappointed,” Scot said, pulling Sadayuki down from his half-formed bow to crowd onto the loveseat with him. Sadayuki tried to fight it, face red, but Scot just laughed, arm tight around his waist. “It’s not often we find someone Matt takes to so kindly.” He winked at Issei, who was still backed up against the china cabinet, heart hammering. Flowerboy halfway turned to look at the wink, but paused before he could meet Issei’s eyes. “And you _are_ special,” he added, “even if you may not realize it yet.”

The room fell silent, only the churn of the air conditioning and the hum of the bugs outside as company. Flowerboy’s shoulders curled in, and the hair on Issei’s arms stood straight up. He would _kill_ -

“I’d like you to tell me more,” Flowerboy said, still a little curled. “But… over that dessert?” Scot laughed, Charlie smiled, and Terry slapped his knees as he stood. Joanne took Flowerboy’s arm to lead him back to the dining room, joking with him about only thinking about his belly as Sadayuki was besieged by Scot’s beardy attentions, distracting him out of the too-serious funk he had fallen into.

And Issei slipped out the back.

* * *

Three pieces of pecan pie and a million explanations later, Takahiro’s head was swimming. The pack had been polite and gentle about the terms of joining them, answering all of his prying questions, but it didn’t make the sword hanging over his head any less scary. There would be no turning back from this. He would either become a member of these people’s collected family and leave everything he had ever thought about his life behind, or spend the rest of it looking over his shoulder and shivering under his bed. It wasn’t easy.

He asked if he could think about it. Terry gave him until morning and recommended taking a walk outside while they made up a bed for him. Honestly, after waking up at four in the morning and driving halfway across the States _before_ all of these shenanigans, he was ready to crash on any horizontal surface, but he had figured out Terry didn’t suggest so much as order and there were usually at least three layers as to why. It didn’t take much to worry out the worried white trees hiding in the dog pen behind the house. He still had one more person to talk to.

He was tired and nervous enough that his hands shook as he fumbled open the gate latch, slipping inside as leaf litter crunched under multiple sets of paws running towards him. He barely got it closed in time to kneel for their approach, holding out his hand for the three big mutts to sniff and slobber over. They pushed right into his space to greet him, forcing wide heads under his hands for ear scratches until he had to sit to keep from getting knocked on his ass in the dirt, laughing. _This_ was the kind of love he knew.

“They’re supposed to be guard dogs.” Takahiro flipped his hair from his eyes to look up at Matt’s voice, leaning against the chainlink with a faint smile as he tossed his cigarette butt over the fence. Takahiro shrugged, a dog under each arm and another belly-up in his lap.

“Dogs have always liked me,” he said, almost a croon as the biggest one leant hard into his side, “even before I got turned. Now it’s like I’m one big hambone.” Matt chuckled, and Takahiro’s stomach boiled. He wriggled out of the puppy pile, getting to his feet to face Matt outright. Two of the dogs leant against each of his legs while the third went to beg from Matt. He laid his hand on their head, but he didn’t look away from Takahiro. It was close to pitch dark this far from the house, the white of his eyes the only bright points around. He was so damned hard to _read_ , one of the most impassive faces Takahiro had ever met.

The pack had told him what Matt’s trees and the hot wind of Sadayuki’s introduction meant, that every wolf (and every other species of shifter) had an internal landscape that only other shifters could feel, that it was found by touch, that the better you knew someone the more you could tell about them through it. He had been introduced to all of the pack’s inside spaces, both through the formal forearm shake like Sadayuki had given him and through little brushes, casual touches as they passed the barbeque sauce or fixed his hair. He felt like he knew them better than his old classmates and new coworkers and the neighbors he had known since he was born, except maybe for his parents or his high school best friend. None of their pebbled creeks or limestone caves kicked him in the ass quite like Matt’s birch, though, and the two of them hadn’t even had direct skin-on-skin contact yet. If he was going to throw away his old life for this, he had to _know_.

He stuck out his arm, almost straight from the shoulder. Matt jumped, whites blinking. Takahiro swallowed. “Please.”

Matt didn’t move, even as the dog against his leg whined for attention. “Do you know what you’re asking for?” he asked. Takahiro nodded – shrugged.

“Honestly, I don’t know anything anymore. Just shake my hand so we can get this over with and I can sleep.” Matt’s eyes narrowed with a faint smile, and he reached out to take Takahiro’s arm…

Takahiro was plunged into the middle of the woods, clutching bark for balance and leaves crunching underfoot. He could feel this forest in his _blood_ , roots running through his veins. As he watched, the mists that had been fogging up the trees more than a few layers away faded, burned by a hidden sun as flowers sprung up in the open spots, little pink ones. He pressed his face to a tree and breathed in, hair fluttering over his face. This was _home_. He had really found it. He laughed, choking on it, as the tree rumbled against him, thin arm holding him close… _Issei_.

Input blurred, burning sunlight and new moon stars, dogs at his feet and flowers in his hair. He was going to _explode_ , but he only laughed, watery and shaky, pressing his cheek against paper bark that gave like skin. Sometimes he felt taller, like he was standing in a mountain clearing bursting with hardy color, but everything was running together too fast to process beyond the rhythm of _here, here, I belong here_. He wanted to cry, say something, but the forest kept answering him before he could. _Issei_.

Too late, he pulled away from the tree to blink the real world back. Matt still had his forearm in his vice, but they had gripped each other close as well, elbows cutting into stomachs so they could rub cheeks, long hair shaken back. Issei. _Issei_.

“Issei,” he whispered. Issei groaned, arm around him holding him tighter, long nose dragging in the hollow under Takahiro’s jaw. He could still feel the forest at the edge of his mind, only a slow blink away from that full body immersion again. He concentrated on where they actually were – packed earth, dogs watching just out of touch, yellow house lights spilling on the lawn.

A sniff in his ear. Takahiro pulled back enough to look at Issei’s face – grinned. “Are you _crying?_ ”

Another sniff. “No.”

Takahiro laughed, using his free arm to wipe the tears away, tuck loose hair out of his face so he could see it for real. This close he could see the pores, the discoloration of bad sleep and cigarette smoke baked in, the sweep of his thick eyebrows sticking out in multiple directions. Takahiro smoothed them out with his thumb, Issei’s eyes fluttering. The bare trees before had leaves again, bright green circles catching the sun. Takahiro tried to tug his right arm free of Issei’s grip, but his fingers just dug in harder, probably bruising. Takahiro smiled. “Let me go, Issei. I’m not going anywhere.” Issei gulped, but relaxed his grip, hand trembling. Takahiro could hold his face with both hands now, Issei's inching under his shirt so he could spread his fingers over bare skin. His hands were cold, and it should have been an odd touch, but it felt as familiar as truckseat leather. Takahiro ran his calloused fingertips along Issei’s prominent cheekbones, watching his face twist through more emotions than it had shown in the last six hours, fat tears rolling into Takahiro’s palms. He laughed, a happy cup overflowing – he felt _full_ , for the first time in almost a year. In years, maybe. His face hurt from smiling.

Issei knocked their foreheads together, breath hot and clinging. “Takahiro.” Takahiro gasped, heart pounding in his ears. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Takahiro’s smile softened, fingers burying in his hair. While the escaped strands were stringy and oily, the mass of Issei’s hair was soft and thick.

“Stop apologizing.” He tilted his chin forward – retreated. No, that was too much too soon, even with it all –

Issei crushed their mouths together, teeth clacking, yanking him bodily into it. Takahiro melted back into the trees, plunging his hands in the moss at the roots to yank it free. Issei hissed into his mouth as he pulled the ponytail open, loose waves falling to his shoulder. It was slick between his fingers, part natural and part dirt. God, it was so late, and he was dirty and exhausted. He needed a shower. They _both_ needed a shower.

Issei pulled back to nip his lip, smiling against Takahiro’s mouth. “Is that an invitation?” he purred, lacing his fingers together at the small of Takahiro’s back. Takahiro rolled his eyes, tugging on a hank of Issei’s hair – wait. He _definitely_ hadn’t said that out loud.

“Did you just read my mind?” he asked, running his fingers through Issei’s hair. Issei shrugged, and Takahiro grinned. “That’s hot.” He pulled Issei down for another kiss, less forceful this time, easy and slow. Issei was hot and hard against him, too many bones poking his soft spots. He wanted to know _why_.

They separated after another few minutes. Takahiro glanced around – they were still in the dog pen, the dogs long given up on them and gone back to their houses to sleep. It was humid outside their bubble, sweat dripping down his back to Issei’s hands. “We don’t have to go back inside if you don’t want to,” Issei murmured, running his stubbly cheek over Takahiro’s. “We’ve all slept out here for some reason or other.”

“But they would take the shit out of us in the morning, wouldn’t they?” Issei shrugged. He started to sway in place, foot to foot like a high school slow dance. Takahiro hid his smile in Issei’s loose hair. “It’s been a very long day,” he admitted to it. “As much as I love dogs, I really need a shower and a bed or something will die.”

“You’ve never killed anything bigger than a spider in your life.” Takahiro frowned. Maybe that mindreading thing wasn’t so hot. Issei slid his hands around his waist, still under his clothes, fingers catching on his beltloops as he took a little step back, just enough to let the wind breeze between them. His hands fell to Issei’s shoulders, a punch of a sigh echoing from both of them as they lost skin contact for the first time. Issei fumbled for Takahiro’s hand, gripping it too tight for Takahiro to hold it back, eyes wide as his leaves shook. “This might be… difficult,” he mumbled, bringing Takahiro’s hand back up to his face, mouth against his knuckles. Takahiro bit his lip.

“We’ll figure it out together, then.” He reached for Issei’s other hand, fingers weaving together at their sides. “How much you wanna bet they’ve been watching from the kitchen window?” he asked, smile shaky. Issei snorted, and his smile stabilized.

“Everything I own.” He held the back of Takahiro’s fingers against his cheek, eyes closing. “Which isn’t much.”

Takahiro sighed. “That’s okay. I guess I’ll be in the same boat soon.” Issei rubbed his face against Takahiro’s hand, soft enough to break Takahiro’s heart. “We should go face the music,” he said, breathier than planned, “get it over with.”

“Or we could run away.” His eyes smiled as his leaves rustled with a breeze – _someday_. Takahiro swung their laced fingers.

“C’mon.” They headed back to the house, only dropping hands to close the latch of the pen and open the back door, light and laughter greeting them. Takahiro put on a smile and dragged Issei inside.

* * *

The morning fog from the river was still burning away when Takahiro dragged Issei out of the house to the barn, chattering with Charlie about directions and stuffing one last sausage roll in his mouth at the same time. Somehow he was able to do all that while keeping a hand free for Issei to hold, fingers on his wrist a light counterpoint to his braying laugh at one of Charlie’s jokes. Issei was still too close to sleep to pay attention to the details, the pink and yellow streaks through grass enough to keep him in the world of the living. He had gotten the best night of sleep in maybe his whole life the night before, but it had only made him drowsier. He wanted to get on the road so he could back to it.

Charlies helped them open the barn doors (or helped Takahiro while Issei watched), obnoxiously loud and cheery as all of them _not_ noticing the unmarked car waiting at a wide point in the long driveway, Terushima’s annoying hair dozing off in the driver’s seat. Takahiro had signed the formal paper contract the night before, manila folder tucked into his overnight bag as proof, but Terry had insisted on performing their blood bond after his return. Terry believed in family, so when Takahiro had asked for a chance to return his borrowed rig and say goodbye to his parents, Terry had given him the two weeks until the full moon to make excuses to his old life and settle his affairs. Technically, Issei was his chaperone once more, but no one tried to pretend he needed the extra muscle.

They hadn’t planned on sharing a bed the night before, but after just twenty minutes apart to shower (Takahiro had put his foot down on sharing one until at least the second date), it was too much to ask for six to eight hours without touch. Issei had missed being the little spoon more than he thought. He had clung to Takahiro’s shirt through pack coffee and sending Terry off to bed, and now he was ready to do the same all the way to Iowa.

Charlie opened the other set of barn doors in front of the grill of the pig truck, Takahiro pushing Issei off with a laugh as they went to their own doors to climb in the cab. Issei barely let Takahiro buckle in before he laid his head in his lap, nuzzling into his hip. Rough fingers brushed some hair away from the exposed half of his face, tucked it behind his ear, before lifting away. The engine roared to life as Takahiro cranked the window down.

“I’m gonna go distract our friendly neighborhood gend,” she called up to them. “Give me a minute head start?”

“Sure thing!” The hand ran through Issei’s loose hair again. “You ready to run away with me, sunshine?” he asked, running a thumb up Issei’s cheekbone. Issei grumbled and burrowed more into Takahiro’s stomach.

“Not today, Takahiro,” he mumbled, winding his arm around his waist. “Someday.” Takahiro sighed, petting him a moment longer, before wrenching the truck into gear and driving out of the barn. Someday.


End file.
